The Sky Was Falling
by ice-storm1196
Summary: Takes place during the fall in 8x23, Sacrifice. Multiple POV, just a one-shot ficlet. No slash. Though, I suppose if you are wearing slash-y goggles, you might see it. Spoilers.


So. Basically, it is a short ficlet about the fall of the angels from multiple POVs.  
It is my first Supernatural fanfiction.  
Sorry for any OOC-ness.

Work Text:

The sky was falling.

Jodi Mills stared out from the window of the hospital room she'd awoken in after passing out in the bathroom after choking on her own blood. The doctors hadn't been able to tell what had caused the fit, and they hadn't been able to tell how she'd healed so quickly. But they said she'd be safe here. As she watched the stars fall, she thought she caught sight of wings, and wondered if anyone would be truly safe ever again.

The sky was falling.

Lisa Braeden watched with some trepidation as she clutched her son against her side, Ben's eyes wide with fear. She felt herself reaching out for someone who was no longer there, a ghost in the wind, one she felt every time she walked into a room and traced a finger over window panes that were perfectly clear, and wondered why she sometimes thought there ought to be salt. As a meteorite streaked by she swallowed her fear, whispered to Ben to make a wish. He almost said he was too old for that, but at the sight of his mother, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer for someone that didn't exist, he closed his eyes and wished with all his heart.

The sky was falling.

Crowley heard it, saw streaks of light, heard screams of angels, smelled burning feathers and hair. He closed his eyes, but the lights of so many falling angels light up the church inside and out, no matter how tightly he squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't crying, that he was the King of Hell, and the Demon King did not cry over the Fall of Angels, but he wasn't really the King anymore was he? It had always been a title that didn't fully belong to him. He'd stolen it, because he'd been clever and opportunistic, and Hell had listened, because they'd been confused and Lucifer had failed them. There had always been more powerful demons. Yet it was the _angels_, and not his loss of power that had stinging, salty tears sliding down his cheeks. He tilted his head back and listened to the pain of his once powerful enemies, screaming in fear and agony. And it brought no joy, as he'd once have thought. Only sadness. Only despair.

The sky was falling.

Evangeline Woods, once Charlie Bradbury watched in horror and fear from inside her apartment. She wanted to call Sam and Dean. She wanted to call her landlord. Or the cops. Or better yet, one of her fictional heroines, to come and save the day. Because the angels were falling. And who would save them now, when it was the angels needed saving? She didn't know much about them, only what she'd read in the books. But she knew that angels needed vessels, or their true forms would destroy any human that looked upon it. She wondered if that was still true. Because if all the angels were falling, and god, it looked like they were, then some wouldn't have a human shape. She hoped, perhaps selfishly, that they wouldn't be able to hurt people. Maybe it was wrong of her. But she couldn't bring herself to care about morality. The angels were falling, likely dying, a lot of them, and everything about the world was about to change.

The sky was falling.

Sam watched in a daze as Dean explained what was happening in that broken, horrified voice._The angels….they're falling_. The shapes of people vaguely visible in the balls of flame, if you knew what to look for. He saw the wings of one, almost explode and then, the angel, already falling fast, went into free fall and slammed into the lake next to the church. He made a choked sound. This was happening all over the world. Angels cast out of heaven, wings burned away as they crash landed on a planet most of them had set foot one only once or twice in at least two thousand years. He felt Dean holding tightly to him, as if that would protect him should an angel plummet directly on top of them. He leaned against Dean's shoulder, and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see this.

The sky was falling.

Dean answered Sam's confused question, though he didn't feel like he was really there. He jumped, as the angel crashed into the water. He wanted to go to it, but he wanted to leave Sam less. He shouted for Castiel again, and again. He cried for him as loudly as he could, begged for him, in prayer. Could Castiel even hear him? Was he one of those horribly burning shapes, plummeting toward earth in an uncontrolled, likely fatal, free fall? He clutched at Sam, at his one anchor and tried, oh god, he tried not to cry. Cas was out there. If Cas wasn't dead, he was falling, he was terrified and hurt in ways Dean couldn't even fathom. Dean couldn't move, just kept fruitlessly calling for Cas, holding his brother close. It felt like the end of the world.

The angels were falling.

Castiel didn't know where he was, only that it was dark, and he was cold (he was _cold_) and everything hurt. He stumbled out of the wooded area where he'd found himself and saw the sky alight. His brothers and sisters, dropping, screaming out of the sky. He felt the cold guilt inside him like a knife, plunging, twisting, moving his insides around. He felt it settle in the empty place where his grace had been, filling the space and making him almost numb. He could hear Dean's last prayer, echoing around in his head. _Castiel!_ But he couldn't help Dean. He couldn't help Sam, if he were even still alive. He was barely sure about how he was still even upright. He felt about a thousand times heavier, bound as he was to this vessel. His body, now. He watched as his brothers and sisters fell, and he knew it was entirely his fault. Most of them hadn't done anything at all. They'd been confused, lost. Following orders. And then, suddenly, it would be as if heaven's floor had dropped from under them and they were falling, terrified, in pain, and having no idea what they'd done wrong. Because they'd done no wrong. A keening noise made its way out of his throat. He could _feel_ everything now. He couldn't hear his brothers and sisters in his head, and he was unprepared for how lonely that was. But he could feel everything, unmated, raw and loud and shrieking inside him. _You did this. __**You.**_ And he knew it. He tried to fix things. He had only wanted to right his wrongs. He had tried. He failed. He'd broken things so much worse than they could ever be fixed.

And now, the sky was falling.


End file.
